SteampunkLock
by ashley.hillson2012
Summary: Sherlock is a human mechanic who long ago saved a life using his skills with metal, wires, and anything mechanical. He is the best in town and his cyborg comes back only for additional repairs, which Sherlock is happy to give. JohnLock if story is continued/well liked.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a soft touch/go. I will only write more if this gets positive feedback or a lot of readers. Please leave thoughts in comments. First time trying Steampunk, first time writing anything not regular JohnLock/TeenLock except that one WhoLock crossover I never finished. Anyway, enjoy.**

Everything was reasonably quiet around the shop aside from the usual background hum of the machinery that he'd already fixed and ready to go back to their owner or was for sale. The difference in this noise compared to his regular customer was very distinct.

Sherlock's work station was in the back of his shop. Upon his selling counter on the back wall of the main selling area stood a bell that made a very distinct sound. This bell was used by regular customers if Sherlock wasn't in view. Never were they to yell back.

As the man worked his long fingers, his eyes focused on the multiplying lenses over his eyes. He saw each tiny little knob in the toy mechanical dog's leg. He'd found what was wrong about an hour ago and it had taken almost the whole time to remove the small, ground up piece of wood and all the broken pieces from the gears. Since the dog was an older model the pedals in the feet rolled , which may be the reason the wood got inside. Or maybe the child jammed it in. Either way Sherlock would fix and return it to the child.

Not out of love for the child but devotion to his work. It was all he had and all he wanted.

The best thing he ever did, though, was save a man's life. With the hard work of fixing metal to flesh. It hadn't been easy but he'd done it. His creation, though, needed constant fixing. Not because he'd done things wrong, but because the man kept wearing himself out.

Deep in thought, Sherlock finished the dog toy and closed up the leg. He twisted the spin tail and set it on the floor. Unlike current dog toys who's legs actually moved up and down in a forward-backward motion, small wheels at the bottom of the legs rotated and the dog moved forward. Fixed completely, it was actually better off than when the boy had brought it to him.

Even as he placed the dog on one of the small piles he deemed "done," Sherlock picked up another broken object from the even larger and more numerous piles of "to be done." Just as he determined himself towards locating the problem, this object being that of a malfunctioning personal water heater about the size of a human brain, Sherlock heard a very distinct footstep. There was nothing tremendously wrong with it, but with the normal thud of the step came a small, nearly inaudible hum. This humming came from the joint mechanisms held inside of the ankle, knee, and hip as he shifted his leg to move his body forward.

Abandoning the water heater, Sherlock rose and quickly went to the opening for the back of his shop. The footsteps continued at a normal rate any full-bodied human would pull off. Sherlock waited, listening to the whirs for any possible hiccup. The man never came for just a visit, which Sherlock preferred since he was married to his work, which meant something was wrong. Before he even saw the man, Sherlock knew the problem wasn't in the leg or hip equipment.

Having been in this type of connection with each other for years now, there was a certain greeting they had. Silence until face-to-face, and then it was straight business talk. Sherlock only wished the rest of his clients were capable of having such an arrangement.

The man came up to Sherlock, a crooked smile on his face. He looked more than a bit guilty, his sandy blonde hair practically a style in and of itself. Sherlock held his hand out and the man placed a fully metal arm into it. The end of the arm, the shoulder piece, was torn almost to shreds. The shirt the man wore was hanging limply at the shoulder where the mechanism normally was connected.

With a deep, accepting sigh, Sherlock moved out of the doorway to admit the man into the back room. Once sitting at the work table, the man's exposed and ruined stump facing Sherlock, electrical wires and a bunch of metal all crunched together, Sherlock took a look.

"Okay, start from the beginning, John."


	2. Chapter 2

**John H. Watson**

That's what the tags read on the man lying in the hospital bed. Sherlock straightened his head, having cocked his head sideways to read the tags, and let the metal pieces clank back down on the man's chest. The clipboard at the foot of the hospital bed said the man had been in an accident and may not survive. This is why Sherlock was called here.

The last few years he'd been working on prototype's of fake limbs. The problem was, with mechanics, they needed to be apart of a working system rather than strapped on all hunky-dorey. He'd eventually been able to put a fake limb on a cat by medical surgery. Today was the day he would save this mans life. Try to, at least.

He'd waited a long time after he'd been noticed for artificial limb attachment. Now, today, because this John Watson, a man mortally wounded in battle, was practically dead and with no family, Sherlock was given full rights to attempt the surgery.

After having reviewed the damage and creating the pieces he'd use to fix up John, Sherlock had come to see the man himself. He was a man closer to deaths' door than anyone Sherlock had seen. They were either dead or fully alive. It was a privilege to be able to work on a human that could actually survive.

Regardless of how he had handled the other surgeries done at his workshop/home, Sherlock dressed in surgery clothes and was completely sanitized. When the surgery started, it was touch and go for a long time. The whole thing, just for John's leg and hip, lasted twelve hours. There would be a short intermission so Sherlock could sleep.

Once he'd had five hours he was back at it, doing ribs and the shoulder. After that, it was a simple matter of adding the arm to the shoulder socket and nerves, then sensory skin grafting. After the second surgery, taking almost fifteen hours, Sherlock dropped to his bed in exhaustion and slept.

There would be a two week period where everyone would wait to see how the surgery saved him. Not only did Sherlock give the man new limbs, there were a few organs that needed a bit of mechanical help. A lung and liver, as well as about 1/5th of the intestines needed grafting and fixing. There was a rare chance anyone would donate organs to a case so lost.

Once the wait was over, John was expected to be able to come out of the medically induced coma and then they would see how the limbs worked.

If John lived and could use his mechanical body parts, Sherlock would have accomplished life-giving.

Two weeks later, Sherlock was called back to the hospital and sat in the room with the hospital staff in charge of removing John from the coma, as well as an eye witness to the miracle Sherlock may have created. Someone had to inform the news and public if the mechanic was lying or not.

With the dog tags still lying on his chest, John was woken from the coma. As this happened, the doctors tried explaining what had happened to him since he'd been in the accident. The man was confused, but attempted no movement or words. He did, in fact, nod in understanding when the doctor asked if John understood what was being said. The nurses checked vital signs. Once it was determined the man was stable except for the lack of movement to his vocal chords or mechanical parts, they all backed away.

"We'll be back in about half an hour unless something goes wrong. Call us if you need." The last doctor said while on his way out. Sherlock nodded his understanding before standing from the chair he'd been in. The eye witness smoothly slipped over to John's side and gave him a big, womanly smile.

"Hello John, my name is Molly. If you could just repeat my name back, I will make a note of it."

"At least explain what you're doing, first, amateur." Sherlock grumbled, gaining a sharp look from Molly.

"My apologies. The doctors informed you that Sherlock," she pointed to him, "did an operation on you that would change your life forever and that we are here to help you understand how. I'm here not only to help, but to take note that you survived the surgery and that your fixed parts work correctly. It's important to the community to know a man of Sherlock's capabilities is true to his word as well as his career."

John blinked at her a few seconds before eyeing Sherlock. Sherlock knew he was messy. Bed-tossed hair, dark bags under his eyes and red dust from his workshop layering his skin. He hadn't had time to shower before the trip up and had been too excited to calm down enough for one once he'd arrived at the hospital.

"Hi," Sherlock breathed, smiling a tiny bit. He'd spent a lot of time around people the last four hours and wasn't too comfortable at the moment with Molly and John, now that the man was awake.

"You fixed me." John's voice was cracked and wispy but it was a working voice. The tone, also, wasn't accusatory or questioning. The man was aware of his mortal danger, had seemingly accepted it, and was suddenly aware a man had swooped in and pulled him from the edge.

"Can you move any part of your right body?" Sherlock inquired. He didn't want to get all touchy-feely.

Slowly, and with so much concentration he started groaning, John moved his arm upwards. The sounds of the gears shifting surprised everyone in the room. It was a lovely sound, rather beautiful. Possibly because it was soft and melodic and fully lubed up from being so new. To Sherlock, it sounded like success.

John eyed his arm, which looked like a mirror image of his left, must have felt very strange. The noise coming from it didn't seem to be registering.

"It's all fake." Sherlock stated and John frowned. Sherlock put a finger on John's collar bone where the real bone met the metal. "This is real," he shifted his finger towards the shoulder, "This is fake."

"Nice going, smoothing into that." Molly commented, dripping sarcasm. Sherlock ignored her and put a hand under John's fake elbow.

"This is fake. Move it." John did was was told, his face scrunching at the mechanical whir the resounded from the small movement. Without being told, he shifted his wrist and then his fingers. Each moved stiff and very little. "It will take a while for you to get used to the mechanics. It will also take a while for them to get used to you."

"Is it a robot?"

"No, you are a cyborg." Sherlock helped John put his arm back down. Molly was seething from the comment, Sherlock could feel the daggers stabbing into him. "Now your leg."

John pushed so hard beads of sweat dotted his brow. Sherlock watched Molly, for he was confident in his work to know the leg would raise, and nearly showed his smugness when her eyes widened at the movement when the leg rose a few inches. Sherlock placed his hand under the thigh and asked John to move the knee. Afterwards, John freely moved his ankle and toes.

"How can I feel you? How can I feel the movement and the bed?"

"I put on sensory skin grafts. They link to your nerves, which are connected with the mechanical wiring."

"I'll feel pain."

"Yes but at some point, instead of your brain receiving the message to pass out, the nerves will shut down. If you get damaged in any way you would have to come to me for repairs." Sherlock stated, almost wishing he could take the whole surgery back so he wouldn't have to have continuous meetings with John, who seemed a very talkative person. Molly was busy writing what she'd viewed, her hand moving furiously over the paper.

"I'm not fit enough to go back to war?"

"No, if you get damaged there all of my work would be for nothing. You've been pulled from the ranks and you still get to keep your rank."

John smiled at that and, with Sherlock's help, lowered his leg down. Over the course of the next few months, John went through physical therapy by himself as Sherlock assured him and the doctors that the mechanics were doing perfect and that he was just a few hours drive away if anything were to happen.

Once John was released and sent back home, he found that Sherlock actually lived in the same run-down town and he visited one day for a check-up. Sherlock noticed, with a happy feeling for some reason, that John still had his tags.

"I don't know how it's supposed to feel, I'm the only person who has half a body of metal."

"Does it hurt anywhere? Little pinches ever so often?"

"In my hip, a few times when I twist just so..." John showed Sherlock and winced, jerking his body straight once he'd apparently pinched a wire. Sherlock frowned and explained that he'd have to go in and check it out.

After blocking the nerves off and cutting into John's hip, Sherlock found a wire had overstretched itself. In a matter of minutes he replaced it with a more flexible wire and fixed him back up.

"Because the skin isn't real skin, you have to wait only 24 hours for it to heal completely. Stay away from water, though."

After that repair, the two saw each other about once a month for repairs and check-ups, more often if John needed immediate attention. They grew close and Sherlock could possibly call the man enjoyable company.


End file.
